


I see my face among the crowd

by inthebeginningtherewasM



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, Coffeeshop AU, F/M, Fluff, I'm open to suggestions too, Melinda is a BAMF, Phil is great all around, Werewolf AU, all about Philinda, because I like writing her that way, more tags will follow, roommate au, since I have so many AU ideas, this is gonna be a collections of AUs, watch out for possible archive warnings in the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthebeginningtherewasM/pseuds/inthebeginningtherewasM
Summary: A collection of Philinda AUs. I have big plans.





	1. Some brew it hot

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, sweetpeas!  
> It's my birthday today! YAY! And because of this YOU get a little something and it's this first in a row of oneshots. This fic is gonna be a collection of different AUs. Because I had ideas. A lot of them. And I plan to write **all of them**. Nevertheless, if there is an AU you'd like me to write, don't hesitate to ask. I'm having a lot of fun with this and it helps to keep me focused. So I don't forget about my other fics.
> 
> Anyway, first stop - Coffeeshop AU.  
>  **Warning for minor violence and some blood.** But only a tiny amount of blood. Phil is making a fuss over nothing.

Melinda May wasn't too partial to things. There was no sense in getting attached to a certain piece of clothing or a specific mug in the break room. She did not love her SUV more than any other car in the world and she could care less about her shoes. Lately, she did detect a certain type of fondness for a certain coffee shop on the street of her new workplace though.

 _Lola's_ was a little hidden away in a side street on her way to work, a quaint little place with dark wooden tables and comfortable chairs. They served homemade pastries and cakes and - unlike most other coffee shops in the area - had a great variety of teas on the menu. It was run by a man named Phil Coulson (and his daughter Daisy).

Melinda still smiled at the memory of her first encounter with him every time she walked in the door. Back then he had enthusiastically rattled off the different blends of tea they offered and gave off his opinion on all of them and went back and forth rambling about the flavours of pastry and what would go fine with what tea while Melinda had stared at him a little slack-jawed until his thirteen year old daughter had elbowed him in the side. His face had taken on an interesting shade of red and Melinda had ordered some green tea. Easy as that. The pastries were good, the tea brewed just right. That was the only reason she came back. Really. It surely had nothing to do with the way Phil's chest seemed to stretch behind his apron or how blue his eyes were or how he always seemed genuinely happy when she came in the door. (Melinda was pretty sure she imagined that last one. Phil was a nice guy, friendly to everyone and seemed like he really loved his job.)

Still, even she was inclined to call _Lola's_ her favourite coffee shop. Not that she would ever admit to that.

 

The next time Melinda walked into _Lola’s_ after her shift there was a new guy behind the counter. It had been a long day, exhausting and frustrating, with lots of overtime and it was already dark when she walked in the door. Maybe it should have given Melinda something to think about that her first thought was about getting tea at _Lola’s_ rather than going home right away but right now she felt herself breathe easier and her shoulders relaxing in the warm atmosphere of the shop. The boy behind the counter couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen and had a such tremendously bored look on his face that Melinda almost graced with a comment but she settled for a curious lift of an eyebrow as she approached the counter.

„Hey, welcome to _Lola’s_. What-„, he interrupted himself to give her a very obvious once over and a smirk, „can I do for you, beautiful?“

Melinda kept her face blank and ordered some tea and a piece of quiche. She was hungry and not interested in any kind of conversation. Especially not that kind of conversation with a boy that could have been her son. Which didn't stop the boy's eyes going up and down her body again. Melinda was clenching her jaw when Daisy came from some room in the back. She lit up when she saw Melinda, came over to the counter and elbowed the boy in the side.

"Move over, Grant", she frowned, "Melinda's tea deserves special treatment."

Grant frowned right back.

"And what makes _her_ so special?"

"She's a very valued customer and we will treat her that way", came a voice from the door. "Grant, there are still to-go cups in the back that need counting. Please get to that now."

Grant threw Melinda and Daisy a dirty look before retreating, while Melinda barely withheld a smirk.

Phil came up to the counter, looking a little bedraggled and tired and gave her an apologetic smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry 'bout that. He still hasn't mastered the art of customer service."

“That's why Grant usually has the late evening shift when there are less people here", Daisy chimed in. "He started here last year. Yay.”

“Daisy”, Phil said sternly.

“What?”, she replied. “I said _yay_.”

Phil frowned at his daughter before directing his attention to Melinda, looking at her with concern in his eyes. Like a lecherous teenager could change her opinion of him and his pastries.

"Jemma is going back to London to see her folks for a week, so Grant is starting early. He's a good kid", he hurried to explain, almost stumbling over his words, "He's just a little..."

"Obnoxious?", Melinda supplied, her lips quirking up in a small smirk. Phil's face lit up in a big smile. It did funny things to her stomach nowadays, that smile. Or maybe she was just coming down with the flu. Who knew?

„I could lock him in the fridge until you are gone“, Phil grinned.

„To cool down his temper?“, Melinda smirked and took an unconscious step towards him. His eyes really were exceptionally blue. Like little pieces of the sky.

„Okay. If you guys are done with the eye sex, can I get another cup of coffee?“

Phil's head reared back and his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. Luckily Melinda was not the type to blush herself. That would have been embarrassing.

Gasping Phil held his hands over his daughter's ears which made Daisy giggle.

"Little ears around, Maria!", he chastised the brunette that had snuck up behind them, who was, as Melinda had found out over the last couple of weeks, Phil's little sister who frequented _Lola's_ quite often to "spend quality time with her favourite brother and niece" which according to Phil was code for "drink as much of Phil's coffee for free without having a caffein induced seizure".

Melinda liked Maria. She didn't even mind her sitting down at her table when there was a rush and not enough space. She usually kept conversation to a minimum which definitely earned her points in Melinda's book.

Melinda raised an eyebrow at Maria, who threw her a sly grin before Melinda grabbed the tablet with the tea and the quiche Daisy had prepared for her and carried it to one of the more isolated tables next to a small bookshelf that held books for bored patrons.

 

The food was good. Melinda sipped her tea and watched the few customers who came into the shop to buy a drink and a pastry to go. Phil had disappeared into the kitchen, without doubt preparing some of the ingredients for tomorrow's pastries, Maria had gone back to drinking her coffee and to typing stuff into her handheld tablet, sometimes standing up and working the register whenever a customer came in. Daisy prepared coffee and tea and busied herself with cleaning while chatting with the customers.

It was cozy. It was nice. Melinda liked it.

Until, out of the corner of her eye she could see Daisy suddenly going completely rigid where she had been standing and cleaning the showcase for the pastries. The girl's face seemed awfully pale and her shoulders pulled up and Melinda's head snapped around. There was definitely something wrong here.

A big, burly man was standing in front of the counter, his face hidden behind a pair of sunglasses even though it was windy and already dark outside. He seemed to talk to Daisy in a low voice and Daisy nodded slowly, her eyes so wide with fear it made Melinda's heart constrict. Slowly Melinda stood up from her chair and walked closer to the counter with silent, measured steps.

"I don't know about the register, sir", Daisy said in a thin voice. "I'm not supposed to handle the customer's money, that's Grant's job."

Where was Grant anyway? Still counting cups? The young man was nowhere to be seen. But Melinda couldn't focus on that now anyway because as soon as she was close enough to hear what the man and Daisy were talking about, Phil came out of the backroom and stopped cold. The stranger's attention seemed to whip around to Phil.

"You are the owner?", the man rasped, "Stay right behind the counter and open the register or your little bird will walk around with a nice pattern on her face."

And then Melinda saw the knife. It was not anything special, more like something that that guy’s mother was probably missing from her kitchen block right now but the blade was long and light overhead eerily reflected off it. Daisy stared at the knife and swallowed, a few frightened tears running down her cheeks.

"Stay away from my daughter", Phil snapped, taking a step forward.

The stranger lifted his knife towards Phil before threatening Daisy again and Melinda felt something hot and angry surge through her for a second before it was replaced with a cool-headed determination. It was easy to step up behind the robber and she saw Daisy’s eyes widen a fraction more as Melinda’s hand shot out and grabbed the stranger’s wrist. She applied pressure, felt his pulse quicken under her fingers just as she rammed his hand down onto the counter and made him cry out in pain and lose the knife. It slid over the counter and fell down behind it, right next to Phil who gave it at kick that made it clatter over the floor and far out of reach.

The robber twisted away from Melinda, looking at her with open surprise for a split second while she positioned herself just out of the way and closer to Daisy. His face was a mask of anger and humiliation. Melinda wondered what he saw in her, standing there, in her sensible shoes and the white blouse and blazer she hated. Maybe he thought she was an easy target, maybe he thought she was just a little lady and he would be able to take her. Maybe. It happened so often that people underestimated her for her looks and her size. The robber had maybe half a foot on her in height, was bulkier and had obviously less control than her. She looked at him, her expression carefully blank, her hands still loose, her posture straight but unthreatening. She didn’t want a fight in here but if it came to it she was ready. She could feel Daisy shifting behind her, felt her presence just a little closer. Maybe she only wanted to pull Melinda away, maybe she just wanted to be a little closer, was just too scared to think straight. But it was that movement that made the robber break free of his stupor.

He lunged at Melinda, throwing his fists out, advancing with a cry that would have made Melinda laugh hysterically if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

Still, his punches were clumsy and slow, his defence ridiculous. It happened in a split-second but Melinda saw his next swing like in slowmotion, every movement painfully obvious. Unfortunately she also saw how his arm and fist were angled and the path his fist would inevitably take. Daisy still stood behind her, right in the way the fist would be going if Melinda dodged, frozen to her spot, witnessing everything with big eyes. You couldn't expect a level-headed response from a thirteen-year-old that had just been threatened with a knife as long as her forearm. So Melinda stepped a few inches to the side, her hands not fast enough to block but effectively blocking his path with her body and took the punch.

Pain exploded behind her left temple and for a second Melinda felt disorientated. She could hear Daisy screech behind her before the kid muffled her scream with both her hands. She could feel a trickle of blood run down her temple and how Phil took the chance to leap forward and haul Daisy away and behind the counter. The robber seemed perplexed for a moment that he had actually connected a punch before sneering at her.

"Had enough, doll?", he leered, cocky and now obviously convinced that he didn't need anything than his bare knuckles to take down this small, tiny Asian woman who had just a few seconds ago expertly taken his knife off him. Idiot.

Melinda's eyes narrowed before she struck out a fist, quick as a viper. She hit the robber on the chin, twisted her other hand in his shirt, yanked him forwards. She circled to the right, grabbed the back of his head and smashed his forehead against the counter, let him go, watched him stagger back. He was already groaning, already whimpering. He tried to stumble away from her, tripped over his own feet. Melinda kept her hands up but stood still, watched him fall, watched his arms flailing, his head hitting the floor with a dull thud, knocking him out cold.

 

+++

It was eerily silent in the coffee shop. Everyone stared at the body lying motionlessly on the floor before directing their eyes to Melinda who slowly took down her hands. She could feel their stares burning into her, could feel their judgement. Would they throw her out? Deem her too dangerous to be around? Would Daisy be afraid of her now? Melinda bit her lip, avoiding Phil's gaze, avoiding Daisy's eyes who clung to her father, pressing her head into his side.

It was Maria who spoke up first, letting out a quiet whistle.

"Well, remind me never to get on your bad side."

And with that the spell was broken. Phil knelt down beside the unconscious man, feeling his pulse.

"I called the police", Maria supplied helpfully and looked around the room. There were no other patrons, no other witnesses to what Melinda had done. It made her breathe a little easier.

In the end they decided to lock the man into one of the toilets until the police showed up. Phil kept throwing Melinda strange looks over her shoulder as they dragged the unconscious body to the back of the café and placed him on the toilet floor before locking the door.

Back at the counter it took surprisingly a lot not to avoid his gaze, but meet it flat on. She would not be sorry that she took out the guy. She was not. But maybe she was sorry that they would see her in a different light now.

"You have blood on your face", Phil said at last and Melinda's fingers flew up to the cut just above her eyebrow. She hadn't even noticed it was there, a small but steady flow of blood.

"Can you handle this for a few minutes?", Phil asked Maria who nodded and went to lock the door of the shop.

"Grant", Phil barked at the teenager who came scrambling out the back, looking confused and had probably not noticed anything about the commotion, "be useful for once and guard this door until the police is here, will you?"

He threw his daughter, who was wrapped up in Maria's arms now, a last look before he grabbed Melinda's hand and pulled her after him, around the counter and through a door that lead to a small breakroom with microwave and a few cupboards. Phil motioned for her to go over to the table and Melinda leaned against it, crossing her arms in front of her chest. It was ridiculous really. He was making such a fuss over a little drip of blood.

Phil got the first-aid kit out of a cupboard and turned back to her.

Melinda regarded him very closely. Although he looked stonefaced, he seemed to fume under the surface, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, but still, his hands were soft as soon as he touched the tissue to the cut on her eyebrow. She couldn't really fault him for being angry. Being attacked - his _daughter_ being threatened - in his _own shop_ would make anybody angry.

"Phil", Melinda said as softly as she could muster, gently touching her fingertips to his forearm, "Daisy is safe. And the police will take the guy away. Don't worry."

Phil didn't answer. He kept dabbing the tissue at her forehead, his eyes glued on what could not have been more than a scrape.

"It's gonna be okay, Phil. Everybody is fine."

Phil huffed and suddenly jerked away from her touch.

" _You_ aren't", he pressed and turned away from her, busying himself with the first-aid kit. "There was blood all over your face. He _hurt_ you!"

He steadied himself against the kitchen counter, taking a deep breath before turning back around to face her.

"You shouldn't have put yourself in danger like that."

"I saw that punch a mile coming", Melinda snorted, rolling her eyes. This clumsy, little robber had not been any kind of challenge for her. The expression on Phil's face turned into something even more serious, with maybe a tiny bit of confusion thrown in the mix.

"If you knew what he was doing, why didn't you get out of the way?"

"If I hadn't been in his way, he would have hurt Daisy."

It hadn't been anything she had had to think about, really. The thought of Daisy or Phil injured alone made her grit her teeth for some reason. She might not have known them all too long but she didn't want them hurt. Not if she was there to do anything about it.

Phil stared at her, looking completely flabbergasted.

"You mean you let yourself get hurt so Daisy would be okay?"

Melinda raised an eyebrow at that and shrugged. What a stupid question. It was what anybody would have done.

With two long strides he was suddenly right in front of her, grabbing her upper arms and yanked her forward, crushing her against him and his lips to hers. His arms held her pressed firmly against him, one hand splayed out on her back, the other one reaching up to tangle in her hair.

It was a great kiss, a _phenomenal_ kiss. It was the kind of kiss that turned your knees into jelly and your brain to mush. Melinda's palms were pressed flat against Phil's chest and she dug her fingers into his shirt and his apron, holding on for dear life. It was as if she stopped breathing and at the same time like she had just taken her very first breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. Exhilarating. Phil's mouth moved expertly over hers, his tongue running over the seams of her lips and Melinda felt this burning feeling inside her, wanted more, just a little bit more and...

Just as quickly as he had grabbed her, Phil let go of her. It all happened so fast, Melinda felt slightly dizzy.

Phil in the meantime looked at her like a deer in the headlights. His blue eyes wide he stepped back at least two paces, to give her space maybe or to get out of her reach in case she deemed his actions worthy of breaking his nose. He knew now that she was capable of that.

"I'm...I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have...I'm so sorry, Melinda, please forgive me...I would never...I didn't mean to do that...I'm sorry, I didn't even think..."

He was rambling, running his hands through his hair, looking at her with a horrified expression. He looked so lost somehow, scared like he'd been sleepwalking and now after waking up was confronted with what he had done while sleeping. Melinda's insides cramped. What a shame.

He chewed on his lower lip and didn't look her in the eye. It stung a little - okay, it stung more than just a little - but she balled her hands into fists before letting go again, tilting her head. She wouldn't make this into something it was not.

"I understand, Phil", she said, forcing herself to smile at him. "There is a lot of adrenaline coursing through your blood right now, you were not thinking straight."

Phil seemed to breathe a little easier at that and wasn't that a punch in the gut.

"Adrenaline...yes...right, sure."

Melinda forced another smile before she slipped right past him and out of the break room. Her heart hammered painfully in her chest.

 

+++

The police had arrived and was hauling the semi-conscious robber out of the shop and into a waiting squat car and a nice young police officer with the name "Tripplett" on his tag took everybody's statement. When he heard Melinda's version of the story he took in her small frame and flashed her a broad grin before asking her to come to the station the next day and tipping his hat when leaving.

Phil was somewhere in the background. She could feel his eyes on her but he didn't come any closer. Melinda resisted the urge to touch her lips like she could hold on to that feeling of his lips on hers. Maybe she should just leave. It was late anyway. And maybe she wouldn't be back.

Melinda stood awkwardly in the door, looking back at Phil and Maria and Daisy who stood huddled together, before lifting her hand and clearing her throat.

"Well...good night."

She was not even two steps away from the door when she heard a high-pitched voice calling her name, just before something barrelled into her, almost knocking her over. Melinda hesitated, before she wrapped her arms around Daisy who seemed determined to squeeze the living daylights out of her.

"Thank you", the girl murmured into Melinda's stomach. Melinda raised a hand and stroked her head, just a little.

Daisy leaned back and looked at her, worrying her bottom lip. "You will be back, right?" She looked at Melinda, her big, dark eyes pleading and a strange impulse made Melinda lean down and place a kiss on top of Daisy's hair. Daisy squeezed her a little bit tighter before letting go.

"Sure", Melinda said, winking at her before she turned and finally left.

She would be back eventually. _Lola's_ was her favourite coffee shop after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? I'm afraid it's not as fluffy as Coffeeshop AUs generally are and I'm not quite totally satisfied with this oneshot. I can do better. Anyway, did you have fun? What did you think about the ending? Don't keep me in suspense! Comments and Kudos are _highly_ appreciated. <3


	2. Just keep me moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roommates AU
> 
>  
> 
> _"And why isn't he calling himself?", Melinda asked, another thought entering her head._  
>  The girl cleared her throat, an embarrassed sound like a confession.  
> "He kinda, sorta doesn't know I'm looking for an apartment for him." It was rushed, spoken almost in one word. HekindasortadoesntknowImlookingforanapartmentforhim. Melinda couldn't help but smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sweet peas!  
> Can anybody give me a lesson in writing fluff? Because I'm not good at it. This story is completely different for what I have planned for it, I'm looking at it now and I'm seriously wondering what I was thinking? This was supposed to be something else? *lol* Anyway, enjoy!

"I just don't see why I have to move. My old apartment is fine. I can do stairs, Daisy."

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed like only daughters could sigh at their fathers. They were in the car, the engine off, a soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of the car. Still he kept an iron grip on the steering wheel while Daisy silently looked at him, totally unimpressed. 

"Dad, just go up there and look at the apartment, okay?" 

Her voice changed into something soft, a tone he had gotten to hear often in the last few months. The I'm-just-worried-about-you-Dad-tone. The I-am-so-scared-to-lose-you-and-I'm-not-taking-any-chances tone. He guessed it was only natural. No child should ever have to go through what Daisy had been through, seeing her father growing weaker and weaker every day until finally the call about a donor had come through. Heart transplant surgery was not picnic and somehow it seemed to have instilled an undying fear into his daughter that he might crumble right in front of her eyes, that he might drop dead in an instant, that he would strain himself and his new heart too much and that she would lose him forever. He understood that. It filled him with a constant sorrow to make his daughter worry so much but the truth was, he felt better than he had in years. Better, stronger, more fit, more agile, like he could take on the world. Maybe even like Captain America himself. But Daisy was about to go back to MIT. He knew she needed reassurance that he would be fine while she was away. 

"Okay", he sighed, "but if the apartment is hideous or the woman has thirteen cats, you get off my back for at least two months, okay?" 

Daisy grinned. 

"Deal. But I talked to her on the phone, Dad, and she seems like a really nice elderly lady. You'll get along fine, I'm sure. And now go, she's probably already waiting for you." 

Phil sighed once more, opened the door and hefted himself out of the car. 

The house looked nice, from the outside at least. The apartment Daisy had painstakingly researched was on the third floor, accessible by elevator and a lot closer to his workplace than his old one. The building had a doorman, a state-of-the-art security system and a garage with big, broad parking spots that - according to Daisy - would guarantee that his '62 Corvette would not get scratched by anyone who yanked the doors of their own cars open too carelessly. 

Phil was still unsure. 

Sure he had been living with Daisy for the last twenty years, had had relationships with co-habitation, heck, he had even been engaged once. But living with a stranger? Even if it was a nice old lady as Daisy had said, he still felt queasy about the prospect of sharing an apartment with somebody again. He was fifty years old, for Pete's sake! Wasn't he a little old to be roommates with somebody? He wasn't a college student anymore. What did it say about him if he lived the life of a bachelor whose daughter came to visit on holidays, sharing space with an old lady who probably had decorated the apartment with porcelain trinkets and crocheted tablecloths that happily collected dust in every corner? What would his friends say? He could almost hear Clint pissing himself laughing. 

Phil mumbled to himself, while signing in with the doormat who called up to 3B to announce his arrival. He pondered and worried as he took the elevator upstairs, gripping the folder with his character references, the and as he walked along the corridor. He needed to relax. He would look at the apartment, would meet this woman, talk a few words with her and then he would decide. Even though he would be telling Daisy that it wouldn't work out. 

The door to 3B was painted green and had a gold doorknob like Bilbo Baggins' house in The Hobbit. There was a generic grey doormat on the floor and not one piece of dust anywhere. Phil swallowed. And pressed the doorbell. 

There was a rustling on the other side and steps approaching and a second later Phil found himself looking into a pair of dark eyes that sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. They belonged to a short Asian woman, maybe his own age, with smooth, perfect skin, glossy dark hair and rosebud lips, wearing jeans and a black tank top. 

She looked at Phil with a raised eyebrow, obviously waiting for him to introduce himself. 

"Mr. Coulson, I presume?", she said in a clipped voice after a few seconds, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

Phil was still rooted to his spot, his mouth hanging open just a little bit and looking, without a doubt, like a complete idiot. But he could do nothing more than stare at her. Nice elderly lady his ass. 

+++ 

Melinda was so sick of all those teenagers and college students that inquired about the rooms for rent that she was seriously considering taking down the ad and just move out of her apartment. There were no serious applicants, nobody who would be able to actually pay the rent and if she was being honest, she was not comfortable with some random person in their late teens in her apartment while she was away. 

And then Daisy Coulson called. 

Melinda rolled her eyes at yet another female voice on the other end of the line, just as obviously young as the rest of them. 

"Listen, I'm sure you're a nice kid, clean and quiet and what-not but I really don't intend to rent out the rooms to a college student, okay?" 

She had tried to be patient. She had tried to be nice about it. But right then and there it was late and she was tired and cranky and she didn't want to deal with that anymore. 

The voice on the other side was quiet for a few seconds before answering. 

"Good thing that he isn't a college student then, isn't it?" 

Melinda frowned at her phone. What? 

There was a big sigh before the young voice launched into an explanation. 

"I'm looking for a new place for my Dad. I've called at least a dozen numbers already but all the other options are either too far away or don't have an elevator and I'm pretty sure they cooked meth in that one apartment I called before I called you." 

Melinda frowned a little more. Yeah, the housing situation in the city was a nightmare at the moment. Or so she had heard. It was probably the reason why so many people had been desperate to get the rooms she had available. Still, she was not interested in another dragged-out conversation, not really. Even though this was something new. 

"Why is the elevator a priority?", Melinda asked, only a little bit curious. 

There was another sigh. A deeper, kind of desperate one, that was followed by a little bit of silence, before the girl started speaking again. 

"My Dad had a big surgery a couple of months ago", she said in a quiet tone, "he's recovered now, probably healthier than he ever was but still. He lives in a five story walkup and I don't wanna get a call one day that he had a heart attack because he strained himself too much walking up the stairs." 

She was quiet again and Melinda was quiet with her. What was there to say? I'm sorry your Dad was sick? What did that mean, coming from a total stranger? And who knew if it was true. You never knew what kind of sob story people came up with to get what they wanted. 

"And why isn't he calling himself?", Melinda asked, another thought entering her head. 

The girl cleared her throat, an embarrassed sound like a confession. 

"He kinda, sorta doesn't know I'm looking for an apartment for him." It was rushed, spoken almost in one word. HekindasortadoesntknowImlookingforanapartmentforhim. Melinda couldn't help but smirk. 

"You know, kid, maybe you should talk to him about this first and then come back to me, okay?" 

"But you would consider it?" 

There was undisguised excitement in the girl's voice now. Melinda twirled the phone cable around her finger. She hadn't actually thought about sharing the apartment with a man. In her mind it would have been a lady, maybe her age or a little younger, neat and not too chatty. Like the old days when she had shared a apartment with Maria and Natasha. (That would have been her first choice, but of course Maria and Nat had their own responsibilities nowadays, both abroad all the time and Melinda was not that delusional to believe they were available to revive the good old days.) 

"Maybe." 

She didn't want to get the girl's hopes up too much. 

However, it seemed that she had not succeeded in that because the next thing she heard was a muffled squeal followed by a sting of assurances that her father was a good man, a college professor of some sorts, quiet, uncomplicated and totally potty trained. Then she hung up without another greeting, just to call again not more than five minutes later to ask for the time and place she could send her Dad to look at the apartment. (Melinda was almost a 100% sure that the father had just been presented with a fait accompli and had no say in that matter whatsoever.) Melinda shrugged to herself and gave the girl - Daisy Coulson, her mind supplied - a time for the next evening. It wouldn't hurt to let him look at it. Maybe a nice older gentleman would be a good companion in her apartment. Like an old cat or something but with more responsibility. Her mind supplied her with the image of a white-haired man in tweed jackets, leaning heavily on a cane, smelling faintly of peppermint. She could live with that. 

It turned out, Phil Coulson didn't need a cane to walk. He also didn't have white hair, even though the short cut hair at his temples was greying and Melinda was sure if she just stepped close enough, she would discover that he didn't smell like peppermint either. He was late, though. Dinner would have to wait then. 

Melinda turned around and let him follow her into the apartment, almost feeling the awkwardness radiating off him. She didn't know what he had expected but was rather sure it wasn't her. But whatever he was thinking seemed to fly out the window. She heard a low whistle behind her and when she turned around she saw him looking around in awe, his eyes wide, drinking it all in. 

"And you are living here alone?", he asked while whipping his head around trying to look at everything at once. 

Melinda raised an eyebrow. What was he trying to say? 

"Yes?" 

She could see his eyes go even a little bit wider, his cheeks flaming. 

"No, I didn't mean...I mean...I mean, this place is HUGE", he stuttered, flailing his arms a little, "how many rooms does it have?" 

Melinda suppressed a smile. His excitement was contagious somehow. 

"Five", she explained, "if you count the living/eating space as one. There is my bedroom, one room that's empty at the moment, one I use as a fitness room and one that's not really more than a broom closet. There is only one bathroom we would have to use on schedule and the kitchen." 

She opened a door to their right and step to the side to let Phil look inside. It was empty but had a nice view. She had more than once debated with herself to take this room as a master bedroom but had ultimately not bothered to move all her furniture. 

Coulson studied outline of the room, the floorboards, the walls, without doubt looking for some kind of neglect like mold or water damage. It showed his experience, like he had been moving around a lot, spent a lot of time looking at new homes. Maybe he had. It didn't matter. 

"There is the possibility to move my equipment into this room if you would prefer the other one", she said, mentally sighing at the prospect. It would be so much work. She opened another door and switched on the light. She always had the blinds closed so nobody would be peaking at her through the windows while she was working out. There was her sandbag in the corner, the mats, the weights, the gloves hanging neatly over a hook. 

Coulson stuck his head through the door, his mouth forming a surprised "Oh" before shooting her a look and then a wobbly smile. 

"I think the other one would suit me just fine", he said, clearing his throat. "Can I see the kitchen?" 

Just like on cue there was a sharp hissing sound and a strong smell coming from the kitchen. Melinda could feel her blood pressure rise and her stomach fill with dread as her head snapped up and she turned around and left Coulson where he stood. 

She spewed a few illustrious curse words in Mandarin, hurrying over to the stove where her dinner was happily burning in a pot. She had completely forgotten about it. 

Dark smoke was coming from the pot and Melinda pulled it off the heating plate, promptly burning her fingers and cursing even more. Behind her someone - Coulson - opened a window to let the smell out. Melinda angrily stared at her ruined dinner, sucking at her burned finger. 

Suddenly Coulson stood next to her, giving her a gentle nudge. There was no pity in his eyes, no mirth. He just opened the tap for her and smiled sweetly while taking a dishtowel off a hook and pulling her dinner from the stove, opening one or two cabinets and drawers, getting a dish and some cutlery and carefully arranged whatever was salvageable on a plate and placed everything onto the table. He looked at her with an expectant expression that turned horrified before it turned sheepish. 

"Sorry", he said, "Daisy burns herself while cooking all the time..." 

Melinda did her best not to look too surprised or too mortified. 

"I'm sorry", he continued, "I shouldn't have. I...eh, can I...do you mind if I stay a little and ask you some questions while you're eating?" 

Melinda stared at him long and hard before looking at the set table. Somehow even burned the food seemed nicer than everything she ever put on a plate. 

"You were late", she mumbled, pulling her finger out from under the cold tap water and inspecting it before walking over to the table. Coulson nodded and sat down across from her, kneading his fingers. 

He cleared his throat. 

"Miss May, can I ask...why are you renting out those rooms? I mean, there is a lot of space but you've obviously been living here for a while and...why now?" 

Melinda continued chewing and considered him for a second. It was a valid question, she supposed. Nothing wrong in asking it. 

"I'm a pilot", she finally admitted, "I got different routes to fly now that take me out of the country for several days on end. I need somebody who has an eye on this place while I'm away and helps with the rent." 

She sure as hell wouldn't admit that this had been the first place she had been able to rent after her divorce and that she just couldn't bring herself to leave her sanctuary. How much she loved this place with its turquoise walls and great outline and even greater view and neighbors that never bothered her and a landlord she would reluctantly call a friend now. And she also wouldn't admit that the new routes the airline had given her had come with a minor pay cut. Not much but it was still a pay cut. Somebody else to help shoulder the fair but still enormous rent would be preferable. 

Coulson nodded gravely like it was the most logical thing in the world and continued to ask careful question about neighbors and noise complaints, told her about his job at the college and slid the map with his references he'd been clutching the whole time over the table. She would look at those later. 

Finally he stood up and circled the living room, always in her line of sight, looking out all the windows, asking a question she hadn't answered yet here and there, while she was eating. 

She put away her plate, looking that the burned in food with open disdain before turning back to Coulson, following him to the door. She would deal with the dirty dishes later. 

Meanwhile she looked at Coulson, studying him. Could she see herself in his company on a regular basis? She wasn't quite sure. He seemed like a nice guy. 

Besides being late and his shameless staring when she had answered the door, his eyes hadn't strayed once since. He looked at her with kindness and spoke to her in polite tones, leaving a respectful distance between them at all times. Heck, he had even rescued her dinner. And she had the references to look through and call through to see if he was convincing on paper too. Nevertheless, just before he reached the door, Melinda stepped into his personal space, fixing him with a cold stare. 

"One more thing, Mr Coulson." 

She could hear his breath catch and see his Adam’s apple bob, pleased that she still had it in her to scare grown men. 

"I want to make one thing perfectly clear. This will be nothing more than a business relationship. You will stay out of my way and I will stay out of yours. Just because we will be living together doesn't mean that we owe each other anything. If I get the feeling that I have to lock my bedroom door at night because you somehow start to feel _lonely_ , your ass will be out of here faster than you can say "termination of contract", do you understand?" 

+++ 

Phil had been following Miss May around the apartment for a while, talking to her in the kitchen and the living room, impressed by her quiet voice and light steps and - the apartment. Of course he was solely interested in the apartment, nothing more. And what a beautiful apartment it was. Phil almost couldn't believe that a jewel like this existed in a city he had been living in for so many years. It was incredible. 

But now he felt the heat creep up this neck and he took an involuntary step back until his back bumped into the front door. Miss May just stood there, far too close, fixing him with the most intimidating stare he had ever been subjected to. 

Phil cursed himself, mentally going through all the things he had said to her, wondering if he had given her any indication that his motives were unsavory. It was probably only logical for her to assume that he would come into her house with some dark and impure intends. She didn't know anything about him, hadn't read through any of his references yet. He could have been a known sex offender for all she knew. Sex offenders had daughters too, right? Still, somehow it saddened him that they were living in a world, where even a woman as seemingly formidable as this one had to be prepared to see the worst in any man she didn't know. It saddened him and it made him angry. His little Daisy had to live in this world too. 

Phil tried to calm himself down. He tried to relax his hands and shoulders, wanting to appear as genuine and non-threatening as he could. He took a deep breath and sought eye contact with her. 

"Miss May", he said and he hated that his voice quivered a little, "I want to assure you that you don't have to have any, and I have to stress that, ANY fears towards me in that direction whatsoever. Didn't even cross my mind." 

He would have to omit the fact that just looking at her did somehow do funny things to his stomach. But that didn't matter. He was here about the apartment. 

She kept looking at him, silently, studying his face before taking a step back and giving him a tightlipped smile. 

"We are on the same page then", she said, tilting her head. Phil looked at her, letting his eyes wandering over her face, ignoring his rapid heartbeat, and then let them wander to the walls of the hallway, to the living room behind it. He had looked into the room that could be his bedroom, had marveled over the beautiful hardwood floorboards, the view out the window, had instantly fallen in love with the big kitchen. He could see why Miss May would rather let somebody live here with her instead of moving out. 

"I like it", he said finally, looking at her with an excited smile before reaching out a hand. 

"Well, if you can see yourself being roommates with an old college professor who will cry over his student's papers every night, then I would gladly move in, if you let me." 

Her lips wobbled a little and he was pleased to see that she seemed to be fighting a smile before she took his hand. 

"We will see how it goes. I'll look at the references and if everything checks out then I'll have Fury rewrite the leasing contract. I will call you tomorrow." 

His cheeks were almost aching from the splitting grin that broke out on his face. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and said his goodbyes before telling her that he was looking forward to hearing from her. 

He was standing in the elevator on his way down when he first realized what had just happened. He had agreed to move into the most gorgeous apartment even though he had had no intention to moving at all, and living with a stranger who just happened to be the most beautiful woman in existence who also would kick his butt if he ever so much as breathed wrongly in her direction. Phil rubbed a hand over his face, sliding it down over his chest where the big surgical scar was marring his skin, feeling his new heart beating steadily under it. Maybe it was this new heart that made him act a little reckless. Phil chuckled a little to himself. Who was he kidding, he had always been known for his impulse decisions. 

At the ping, Phil stepped out of the elevator, a silly smile on his face. He walked past the doorman towards his car where Daisy was still sitting in the passenger seat typing something into her phone. Phil almost stopped short, suppressing a groan. Daisy would be insufferable on their way back, no doubt being smug about this whole ordeal as she could be. Oh, goody.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? I feel like this is more like a prelude to any future roommate AU I might write. But do you like it so far?


	3. All my wolves beginn to howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sweet peas!  
> Can it be that I posted my last Philinda story somewhen in May? Unbelievable. Well, I'm still here and I've worked on this story a while. I hope you like it.

His whole body is on fire. From every single hair follicle on his head to his recently cut toenails, every cell of his body screams in pain. He digs his fingers into his mattress, almost ripping the fabrics of his sheets, his head buried under several pillows and blankets and random pieces of clothing to drown out the noise.

There is so much _noise_. 

Church bells ringing, cars driving by, steps on the staircase and the pavement outside, people talking to each other in much too loud voices, birds screaming, horns honking like thundering beasts - Phil has never before experienced a cacophony of so many sounds, so loud, so piercing, so _unbearable_. He presses his hands on his ears, makes himself small under his mountain of blankets, while shivers wreck his body. His head seems ready to split in two, his eyes burn and another wave of nausea hits him like a freight train. Phil can barely scramble out from under the blankets to stretch his head out over the side of the bed and throw up onto the hardwood floor. He's heaving, the stench of vomit and bile burning in his nostrils, while he is retreating back into the darkness of his blanket pile, softly whimpering like a child or wounded animal. His breathing is ragged, his body covered in sweat, every muscle in his body hard and aching. 

The wound on his lower calf is radiating a special kind of pain. Pulsing in time with his radical heartbeat. Beat. Beat. Beatbeatbeatbeatbeat. Is this how he is going to die? Kick the bucket because of some weird disease he caught from some unfriendly stray? Phil reaches to massage his leg only to recoil in pain. 

Stupid dog. 

+++ 

Melinda chucks the rest of her apple into a bin on the sidewalk. 

She utterly dislikes the city and its smell, a heap of different odors and voices assaulting her senses. She can't wait to get out of here again, away from the city, away from the humans and the stench of civilization. 

Just one more job, and she is out of here. One more job and she can go back to China, into the backlands, roaming the forests and mountains and deserts to her heart's content, stretching her body, sticking her nose into the wind, using her muscles in a way her human body cannot. Oh, she likes her human body, no doubt. But a part of her will always prefer that other side of hers. It's something she has no control over. 

One more job. 

It circles in her mind like a mantra. One more job. _One more job._

It should have been easy. Fury had given her the assignment and the look, that look that said that any arguments were invalid and you better did what he said, no questions asked. It was an easy assignment too, especially for somebody with her experience. Find the guy responsible and bring him in. Take care of any loose ends. Be quick, be quiet, keep your head down, stay alive. Do this and we won't bother you for the next eight months. Eight months. It had sounded like a dream come true. 

She can feel the beast inside her shift and squirm. 

_Easy._

But of course it hasn't been easy. 

Melinda had been looking for her target for four days now, four days in this stinking, miserable place where winter is coming with cold winds and the smell of snow in the air, without so much of a glimpse of him. She knows he is here. She has seen the signs, the unnatural scratchmarks, the faint traces of his scent in some or other part of town, listened to the grapevine, picked up the murmurs and stories and tales of a big, strange dog with a bad temper. But she hasn't seen him herself. Wherever Melinda goes, the trail is already cold, the rumors old. It's infuriating. 

She roams the city, by day, by night. She has a hotelroom, curtesy of SHIELD, but she doesn't use it. She rarely remembers to eat, barely sleeps. 

She cannot afford to let her guard down or to slack off. The job is important, however much of a nuisance it is. A rogue werewolf on the loose? Maybe even biting people? Melinda prays to all her ancestors that there haven't been any casualties yet. 

She looks to the left and to the right, sees nobody and lets herself drop to her knees. She closes her eyes, sniffs the pavement, lets the odors paint pictures in her head. A faint noise escapes her throat when the threads finally intertwine to something she can work with. Melinda's eyes snap open. 

Several hours later she still hasn't turned up anything useful. Dead ends wherever she goes. Now it's getting dark and even though the night is her friend, Melinda's stomach is twisting painfully and her body is tired. The wolf inside her wants to lash out in fury and frustration, kick something, pick a fight with a random passersby. 

But Melinda doesn't. She keeps a tight leash on these emotions, however tempting it would be. The wolf inside growls. 

There is a little café across the street, a warm glow emitting through the windows. It makes Melinda ache inside, the wolf softly whimpering. There would be no harm in a break. Some tea, maybe food. 

Her feet are almost moving on their own. Still, her mind recoils at the prospect of a crowd as soon as she spots how many people are spread out on the chairs and benches inside. The beast inside whimpers. It's such a fickle thing sometimes, torn between emotions, between decisions and different instincts. 

This is the time when Melinda resolutely takes full control of her being with her human side because it can be almost annoying to be a creature so much dependent on instincts. She pushes down the door handle of the café, making her way inside. 

_So loud_ , the beast whimpers. 

She is instantly hit by a onslaught of sensations, first and foremost the warmth of the air inside, then a cacophony of voices, almost painfully loud for her sensitive hearing. There are a hundred different smells, of coffee, of sweet pastries, warm food, sandwiches, sweat, polyester, cleaning detergent, wool and - Melinda takes a step and suddenly it's like she is incased in a bubble. Silence washes over her for a second and a smell hits her nose that makes the wolf inside stand at attention, almost whining softly. It's a smell of old, homey things, like leather-bound books and firewood and tea and something that reminds her of engine grease. It's the most comforting, magnificent smell that has ever hit her nostrils. 

Just like that the little silence bubble is gone and the voices inside the café are back to full volume. Other smells are mixing with this most heavenly scent and with some sort of dismay, Melinda starts moving towards the counter. 

The man behind it looks like a regular, middle-aged guy with, admittedly, soft blue eyes. And the closes Melinda gets, the clearer it becomes that he is the source of that wonderful smell. She studies him a little closer, from under half-closed lids, not really paying attention as he welcomes her to the café. 

There are deep circles under his eyes and his skin looks pale and clammy like he had recently been sick. A sour taste of vomit hangs to every word floating in her direction, even though he had obviously tried to mask the smell with about a bucket of Listerine. 

_Something is not right_ , the beast inside her whispers. 

Melinda takes a tentative sniff but the man before her is definitely human. Still, there is something...something...alarming. And confusing. A human shouldn't smell like that, so comforting and appealing. 

She tilts her head to the side and takes another deep breath, basks in his comforting scent when a whiff of something else lets her hair stand on end. 

_HIM_ , howls her beast and Melinda digs her fingers into the countertop. Her heart is pumping, her blood is boiling. 

The man across the counter seems to shrink away from her. No doubt there are the pheromones of a predator rolling off her right now and he seems to be one of the more sensitive humans. The ones who sense that she is different from them. It makes him all the more interesting. He looks at her with big eyes and she feels almost sorry for putting him in this position. 

_But he knows something_ , whines the beast. _He knows something about him._

Melinda reaches over the counter and digs her fingers into the man's apron. 'Phil' says it on a nametag, that gets loose from this shirt and clatters to the floor. 

"Meet me outside", she growls, quietly, although she is sure that her behavior is more than strange, more than noticeable. 

Then she turns around, stalking towards the front entrance. Her inner wolf yowls at the loss as "Phil's" scent vanishes as soon as she steps out the door. 

+++ 

Phil's head pounds. Everything hurts and he feels the exhaustion right down to his bones. However, they are short-staffed at the café and he cannot leave Skye to fend for herself, working the cash register and the coffeemaker and the oven all on her own. Especially when they have the evening shift together when all businessmen come from work, tired and cranky, and groups of young people sprawl themselves out all over their furniture with their mountain of shopping bags and order ridiculously complicated drinks. At least his hearing has more or less normalized, even though it's still much more sensitive than normal. 

Still, as he is standing behind the counter, leaning heavily against it, he silently curses himself for not calling in sick today. That is, he was until that woman walked in the door. A beautiful woman with lush dark hair who seems to wear much too thin clothing for this kind of weather. 

There is something about her, something beautiful and attractive but at the same time something inside him churns, twists. Something inside him wants to run away, tells him that this woman is dangerous. He can't quite believe it. She is not of tall build, maybe not even average. First she looks like she is in a trance, her eyes falling shut as soon as she steps into the café, rolling her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from the cold. Then she moves towards him, the eyes open, a slightly wonderous look on her face that changes just as quickly into something alert, something sharp. 

He cannot take her eyes off her. Not now that she looks at him with a penetrating gaze. He wants to cower, to flee. Which...is a ridiculous notion, really. But his whole day feels ridiculous. Ever since last evening his instincts are running haywire, so his reaction to the woman is probably just another one of those weird things. And as she tells him to meet her outside the café, he tries to hold on to his sanity, on to the hope that this is totally normal and all just a byproduct of this bug he has caught. Heck, maybe she has been in the café the day before and has a complaint she doesn't want the rest of the customers to hear about. 

"Skye, I'll be out back for a second", he murmurs to the girl, who just comes back from buzzing tables. 

"Meeting up with a new ladyfriend?", she jokes, just before her face squishes together in worry and reaches for his arm to steady him. Is he swaying on his feet? The floor seems to tilt from one side to the other. 

"All good", he whispers and takes off his apron, massaging his temples. "Just a customer with a complaint." 

Skye's doesn't seem convinced. 

"Listen", she urges, hovering next to him, "I told you, I can call Jemma and you go home. Screw that lady and her stupid ass complaint. You look like death warmed over." 

He smiles in her general direction. (He is not sure which one of the three Skyes he is suddenly seeing is the real one.) 

"I'll be right back. Fresh air could actually be good for me." 

Phil's head is pulsing as he pushes past her, ignoring the looks one of his regulars gives him. He cannot see the woman through the glass door, however he pushes it open anyway. He takes a few tentative steps. The air outside is cold but he cannot deny it feels good on his overheated skin and soothes his revolting stomach for a second just before the nausea slams into him harder than ever before. Phil falls to his knees just out of sight of the café and throws up into the gutter. 

His body is heaving, his breathing throaty gasps, seizures cramping a body that has nothing left to give anymore. 

There are steps next to him and the woman is back, looking down on him with an unreadable expression. 

She squats down, her warm fingers suddenly on his neck and Phil wants to shrink away from her touch and lean into it at the same time. He tries to turn to look at her as another wave of nausea hits him. Maybe that's what seems to make her dark eyes glisten, her look so intense to him. 

"You've met him, haven't you?" 

Her voice is a low growl, but not unkind. He looks at her, looks, looks, tries to focus, watches her lips move as a sudden heat surges through him. He crawls away from her, his insides cramp and Phil cowers in on himself. There seems to be no air in his lungs and he digs his nails into his calf where the wound from a few days ago is. It seems to be the root of all evil and he spits a curse that turns into a moan. A different sharp pain shoots through his leg, his fingers seem to be on fire. 

He hears the woman gasp, feels her presence closer. He cannot focus on it. Heat is running through his body, all his muscles cramp. He has never been so afraid in all his life. 

"He bit you?" 

Her voice to his ears like through fog. Her hands on him, maybe. He cannot tell. He doesn't know anything anymore. Everything is muted, there is only pain. So much pain. It pulses through him and he cannot think, can only scream. His eyes roll in his sockets and all his bones seem to break, his teeth to fall out, his head to split and he doesn't know where up or down is, if he is alone or not, if he is dying. He feels like he is floating, hears someone grunt, hears words, that don't make any sense. Do they speak a different language in Heaven? No, it can't be. The heat on his skin, he heat in his muscles and bones, the pain, oh, the pain - this has to be eternal damnation. 

A scream bursts out of Phil, a climax of all the pain and fear, and in his own ears it sounds more like a pitiful yowl. He closes his mouth - and then there is silence. 

+++ 

He is utterly still as he is lying there next to the trashcans. 

Like a dead animal forgotten at the side of the road or an old rag someone has thrown out without a care. 

Melinda sighs and burrows a little deeper into her leather jacket. The floor and the brickwall in her back radiate the winter cold and she is slowly losing all feeling in her fingers and toes. 

Still, there is no way she is leaving now. She eyes the bundle of wolf across from her. He fell unconscious an hour ago, after she managed to carry his twisting body into an small alley off the street. From there, there was nothing she could do for him but guard him and stay at his side until it was all over. The first change is never and easy one and it seemed like his was an especially gruesome one. 

Melinda's insides twist. It is her fault, to an extent. Of course, she wasn't the one that bit him, wasn't the one who inflicted this condition. However, she was the one who failed to catch that bastard. Had she worked harder, had searched faster, this poor man wouldn't be in this situation now. 

Melinda sighs again, her eyes never leaving the greyish fur, the big paws, muscular legs, black rimmed ears. She wonders if he still has blue eyes in wolf form. His smell is mostly the same, intense and comforting, now only mingling with the smell of a wolf. It makes her breathe easier for a moment, her mind clearer. It makes her wanna shed her clothes and shed her skin and roll up next to him and take deep breathes while burying her nose into his fur and - 

The beast inside snickers and Melinda feels her ears grow hot. 

She doesn't know how a stranger she has never met before can give her such a feeling of comfort and safety. She has been married when the change came over her, years ago, and she never took any interest in the inner workings of werewolf courtship. Even more, she tries to avoid other werewolves at all cost. 

Phil the werewolf whines softly in his sleep. Melinda shakes her head. She would not leave him alone. Not until he has learned how to deal with the change, with his new heightened senses, his new infliction. She would stay with him. Until he would be able to get on by himself. At least that long. It was her duty. And then she would go and rip Grant Ward to shreds. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? I have to admit, now that it's posted, I actually would have prefered an earlier version that had more Skye in it. But I have the problem that all my oneshots suddenly want to be turned into a multi-chapter fic and I really cannot write all of this. So this turned out much more gritty than I wanted it to. (Okay, I have to ask. Would you be interested in a werewolf story that has, idk, three or four more chapters?)
> 
> Also, would you do me a favour and choose a number between 1 and 30, please? I have about 30 more AU ideas and I don't know what to write next besides the Christmas story I have planned.  
> Thanks! xx


End file.
